American Love Story: An Insatiable Hunger
by xxxsaucyjanet69xxx
Summary: Steve Rogers is cruising down Route 66 when hunger strikes. Little does he know that this will lead to an unexpected encounter- and an unexpected romance.
1. Chapter 1

Steve Rogers was cruising down Route 66 in his 1959 Cadillac Eldorado. He was on his way to meet Nick Fury at an undisclosed location to discuss important world-saving matters.

Suddenly, however, a piercing hunger resonated deep in his stomach chambers.

"Say, I sure could go for a burger right now," Steve exclaimed. Out of the corner of his watery blue eyes, he spotted a glistening sign boasting the words, "Next Exit: Babe's Chicken Dinner House". His salivary glands tingled with delight, and he veered his vehicle to the right, gliding nonchalantly off the interstate.

Before long, Steve found the entrance to Babe's Chicken Dinner House and performed a stunning parallel park, eager to quell his overwhelming hunger. He aggressively strode through the doors, fists clenching and unclenching, for he was so restless to get some of that American cuisine. A stunning waitress approached Steve to seat him, but he took no notice of her appearance, for his only thought was his growing starvation.

"Table for one?" asked the waitress.

"Yes, plea-" Steve began, but was cut off mid-sentence as he spotted a loud, boisterous man across the room.

In the dim lighting of the diner, the man, who appeared to be in his early 50s, was pulling apart a chicken wing, eyes glazed with concentration. Steve couldn't help but admire the way his thick fingers skillfully worked, the way his sunglasses rested on the back of his folded neck. His button-up Hawaiian shirt boasted neon orange flames that complimented his shiny tan skin so perfectly, Steve's heart skipped a beat.

Steve was so caught up in his observation that he did not notice the man looking up from his meal.

Their eyes met.

Steve gulped.

The man lifted his fingers to his lips and licked the grease off each digit, continuing to maintain eye contact. Steve felt heat rise in his cheeks. He bit his lip to prevent a moan from escaping. Those deep, dark eyes kept staring into his, and they seemed to go on to infinity. Steve felt himself floating.

"Sir?" the waitress questioned, waving her petite hands in front of Steve's occupied eyes. Steve nearly jumped out of his American flag boxers.

"Oh, yes, table for one, please," stammered Steve, licking his lips nervously. He wiped a trickle of sweat from his brow and followed the waitress to a table. His heart began to beat faster as he realized that the waitress was taking him to the table across from that man. He licked his lips once more and began fiddling with his 1959 Cadillac Eldorado keys. It took him four tries to grasp the back of the seat, for his hands were now sweating profusely. As he finally managed to pull out the chair and plop down, he could feel those eyes roaming his vulnerable body.

"What would you like to drink?" asked the waitress, ignoring the fact that Steve was visibly distressed.

"I'd like some of that ass," muttered Steve, staring at the man who was still eating his chicken.

"Excuse me?" asked the waitress, startled.

"JUST WATER, THANKS," Steve bellowed.

As the waitress left, Steve reached for the menu with shaking hands. He could feel his pit stains growing with each passing moment. He tried to focus on ordering food. He had been so hungry moments before, but now he had an insatiable hunger of another sort. The words made no sense to him; the hyperrealistic images of succulent appetizers had no appeal. He looked back up towards the direction of the man. The booth he had been sitting at was now empty. Steve swallowed the lump in his throat and frantically searched the room for the large man, who was nowhere in sight. Steve shook his head- he was probably in the bathroom, right? He probably just needed to take a shit after consuming so many wings.

But suddenly, Steve felt a heavy hand on his shoulder. Chills ran down his spine.

"Mind if I join you?" a husky voice implored. Steve thought his heart was going to beat right out of his chest.

"S-sure," he managed to choke out. The large man plopped his large behind into the seat across from Steve, his large muscular calves tightening for a second. They sat in brief silence until the waitress returned. She raised an eyebrow at the man now accompanying Steve. She gave Steve a knowing smile and set his glass of water on the table.

"Y'all ready to order?" Steve panicked, for he hadn't yet read the menu. His eyes darted across the laminated pages, desperately searching for any sort of food item. The man across from him spoke up, "He'll have the Hoppin' John sautéed with barbecue sauce, Babe's Supreme Fatback Sandwich, and some Hushpuppies slathered with mayo."

"Would that be all?" the waitress asked, pen scribbling away.

"A gallon of sweet tea. And onion rings on the side. You know how I like 'em," he added with a wink.

"Comin' right up," the waitress nodded and walked off, her heels clacking on the tile floor. Steve noticed he was holding his breath the entire time, and exhaled loudly. He felt so utterly grateful that the man had just saved him from an extremely embarrassing situation.

"So," said the man, leaning forward. "You come here often?"

"First time, actually," Steve replied nervously. He could smell the musk of wings on the man's breath. He was so close that the crumbs in his beard were visible.

"Babe's Chicken Dinner House," the man said, musing. "Babe, I'd like to chicken your dinner at my house."

Steve's face went as red as the flames on the man's crinkly, sauce-stained shirt. (AN: We said the flames were orange, but suspension of disbelief) He didn't know what to say. He was torn between wishing he was back in his 1959 Cadillac Eldorado and wanting to know this man more.

"M'name's Guy," said the man, pointing his stubby finger in no particular direction with a snap. "Guy Fieri."

"Steve," said Steve. "Steve Rogers." He kept his hands under the table.

"Hm, sounds vaguely familiar," said Guy, stroking his coarse chin hairs. "Have I heard of you somewhere? Nah, probably not. But you should totally get to know me. I have my own show called _Diners, Drive-ins & Dives_." He leaned closer. "Or _Triple D_, for short," he said coolly.

Guy rambled about himself for a while, licking the remnants of his long-gone wings from his fingers all the while. Steve listened intently, fascinated by this man's courageous culinary journeys.

"I… I really admire your career," stammered Steve.

They exchanged a brief smile, but to Steve, it felt like infinity.

The waitress returned, snapping Steve out of his trance. She was balancing the

four plates on her arms and placed them on the table.

"Oh, boy, I love it when the fatback extends off the plate like that," commented Guy. He rubbed his hands together. "You can take the silverware back." The waitress, being a minor character, left without us having to mention it. Oh wait.

Guy ran his hands through his wildly spiked hair and dug in. Steve could only stare at the way he scarfed down the grub, chugging down gulps of sweet tea between handfuls. It seemed like he never even stopped to breathe. Steve was strangely intoxicated.

In what seemed like minutes, Guy leaned back in his chair and rubbed his belly, releasing a resonating belch. He loosened his belt by a few notches, briefly exposing his stomach hair.

Steve glanced away, blushing. He had not eaten anything, but he still felt so satisfied. He couldn't help but notice barbecue sauce dribbling from Guy's lips. Steve wanted so badly to lap up the sauce off those succulent lips. Guy noticed him checking him out, and let out a deep chuckle. His devilish laugh put Steve over the edge. Without thinking, he found himself gravitating towards Guy's face, so close he can feel the man's warm breath against his skin. Suddenly a voice came out of nowhere, and Steve jumped back into his chair.

"Y'all finished here?" Steve blushed, and nodded his head at the waitress who interrupted them. She placed the bill on the table and went to pick up a plate. Guy snatched it out of her reach and began frantically licking the remaining sauce off the plate. The waitress, taken aback in shock, cleared her throat, "I guess I'll come back later for the plates."

Guy seductively slid him the bill. Steve didn't mind; he couldn't help but want to pay for Guy's meal. It was the least he could do. He slapped some bills down on the table, and rose from his seat. "Will I ever see you again?" He asked, tears welling in his eyes. Guy tried to play it off cool, and wiped his oily forehead.

"If fate allows it," Guy whispered, burping softly. He stood up and waddled out of the diner.

As quickly as it had begun, it had ended.

Steve stood there, an overwhelming emptiness consuming him. Steve couldn't care less about SHIELD or saving the world- this man was his world. A single tear rolled down his cheek.

Steve broke into a run in an emotional frenzy. How he longed to see the man's face once more, to run his hands through his frosted tips. He shoved a waitress aside, abandoning all reason, and made for the door. But Guy had been too quick. As Steve frantically searched the parking lot, the realization descended upon him: it was too late.

Guy was gone. Forever.

Steve stood in the middle of the lot, staring at his shoes. He fell to his knees. With a shriek that pierced the heavens, Steve cried out in emotional agony.

In the blur of his tears, he did not see the headlights approaching. Ironically, he did not even see the familiar face and frosted tips he had been searching for. With a gut-wrenching _crack_, Steve was hit by a red Ferrari, containing none other than Guy Fieri.

Everything went black.

AN: Hope you guys enjoyed my first fic. I really poured my heart into this one. :3 Please leave a review and follow! I will be posting updates as fast as my body allows, for I am withering away, but I have vowed to dedicate the last of my life force to completing this story. This is what I want to be remembered for.

Yours truly,

-Janet


	2. Chapter 2

AN: Hope u guys like it! Pls leave a review! ^-^

"He's waking up."

This was the first thing Steve Rogers heard as his sky-blue eyes fluttered open. He looked up from his plastered feet to see his committed fiance of 2 years, Sherlock Holmes.

"Dear, you're awake," said Sherlock in his deep, milky, resonating voice. Sherlock gazed at Steve with milky eyes that could pierce human flesh. (But Steve is already injured so this did not happen also Sherlock loves Steve very much so he would never hurt him). His milky white cheekbones, which could also pierce human flesh, had been moistened with concern for Steve. He loosened his $695 Gucci GG Diamante Jacquard silk wool shawl and stretched out a velvety milky white hand to caress Steve's soft face. Steve's milky eyes searched his own. "Perhaps you'd like a glass of milk?" whispered Sherlock. Sherlock knew that Steve loved milk. They used to milk cows together on their farm back in Wyoming. Sherlock was a pure American hunk of man, after all.

"How… How long was I out for?" asked Steve, looking around. He didn't remember much.

"You must have intended to say, 'For how long was I out', correct?" replied Sherlock, seductively correcting his grammar.

"Bitch please," muttered Steve sexily, tears welling in the baby blue eyes that now took up one-third of his face.

Sherlock couldn't resist that look that stretched the boundaries of human facial capabilities and should be extremely grotesque but that he found kawaii as fuck.

What happened next is fallen short by words, some say it was the passion that Sherlock struck deep into the loins of Steve; others say that it was divine intervention, an act of God! Regardless of the medium, Steve ripped the cast from his now limp sinews and stood up, declaring to the world his irrepresentative, and oddly sexual, desire for some choice nacho.

Steve's voice cut through the silence of the room and declared to Sherlock, "Fuck off, I'm getting some damn nachos!"

He didn't deserve Sherlock, Steve that is. Their relationship was fucked, to say the least. Steve would often drink until his blood ran thick, but Sherlock, that poor bastard, saw something in this devil-man, so he passively went along with his strange fiance's request.

"Dear, you're going to hurt yourself. There are no nachos in this hospital-" stammered Sherlock.

However, before Steve could reply, there was a brilliant explosion that could be seen for miles. Muffled screams could be heard from far-off rooms. This explosion occurred inside that very hospital room. Steve and Sherlock were on the floor now, coughing profusely. However, nothing in the room was harmed and the coughing was only a plot device to build tension, since attractive characters must be protected at all costs.

Steve opened an eye, and the cloud of smoke cleared. A tubby outline of a man could be faintly seen. The frosted tips came into visibility, as did the rest of his face, and his flaming button-up shirt.

All at once, Steve remembered. Tears once again welled in his eyes.

"The fuck?" muttered Sherlock, getting up and shaking the shrapnel out of his Gucci scarf. He saw an oily fat man standing beneath a hole in the wall a few inches away from the doorframe. The rest of the hospital was in ruins, but this room was intact.

"G-Guy, it's… it's you!" exclaimed Steve, feeling the heat rising to his cheeks.

"You know it," cackled Guy, nonchalantly taking a bite out of a chicken leg.

"There's a door right there, you know," said Steve, slightly baffled but nonetheless aroused. "What happened? Why am I here? Why are you here?"

"What the fuck?" repeated Sherlock, unheard.

"Welp, I was driving my ferrari out of the parking lot when I hear this big ol' thud, and I realized it was you. Of course I didn't want to go to jail again, and being a super famous TV star, I couldn't let that ruin my career, so I just left you there and drove off," Guy explained, wiping the chicken grease from his lips.

"Sorry to interject, but I, uh, found your crippled body on the roadside and admitted you to the hospital-" Sherlock began.

"Oh, Guy!" swooned Steve, hardly able to resist his urges. He couldn't believe how this man had once again saved him. "How can I ever repay you?"

A fedora appeared on Guy's head, and he promptly tipped it. "Well, m'lady, how 'bout we go hit it off at the gas station near my place? You, me, and a bucket of wings. The gas station makes great hot wings. I ate an entire truckload of them once." Guy chuckled, shaking his large head, "you wouldn't believe the diarrhea I had the next day. I was squirting chunks into the toilet for at least three hours."

"Steve, darling, what is going on?" asked Sherlock desperately.

"Sherlock, I…" stammered Steve. He simply could not ignore his burning desire for Guy. He looked at Sherlock with puppy eyes.

"Steve…" said Sherlock, returning the gaze. His heart broke audibly. "Does it… does it really have to be like thi-"

With the speed of a peregrine falcon taking a projectile shit while taped to a rocket launcher, Steve leapt up and stabbed Sherlock in the loins with a scalpel he had been concealing within the folds of his loins. Sherlock made a noise comparable to that of a legless orangutan in labor and crumpled to the ground.

"Get rekd m8," whimpered Steve. He knew he had to. "You meme so much to me… but Guy memes more." Steve reached into Sherlock's pocket and grabbed his wallet. He also unwound the $695 Gucci GG Diamante Jacquard silk wool shawl from his neck to sell later.

Guy wrapped his grubby hand around Steve's and leapt out the window, landing perfectly in the red ferrari below. "Let's roll," Guy said coolly, winking at the camera.

AN: Hope you guys liked it. Thank u 4 all the great reviews!3 I love u guys so much!1;) Their the only thing that keeps me going. My life force is fading. Not sure how much more I can write. :3 xoxoxoxox shout-out 2 my top reader Stephen idk what I'd do without her! Big thanks to my Ma, "I LOVE YA, MA"(Bobby B.). also john c reilly is sexy

Dedicated with love(platonic love) to my 8th grade earth science teacher


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